


A Prick of Fate

by zerodoxical



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24803467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerodoxical/pseuds/zerodoxical
Summary: If you, by any means, receive a paper airplane out of nowhere, there's a chance it is from your soulmate. Hisoka Mikage didn't believe in such things - that is, until he himself receives one.
Relationships: Arisugawa Homare/Mikage Hisoka
Comments: 1
Kudos: 50





	A Prick of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what inspired me to write this in the first place, to be completely honest. I'm not even a huge HisoHoma shipper but I felt like they fit this AU well so here we are. Anyway, uh, I hope you enjoy it!

**Contains strong language, mentions of blood and depictions of pain**

He's found his soulmate.

At least, he thought so. Why would he, someone seemingly soulless and blank, have a soulmate in the first place? His hand hovered over the paper airplane but his eyelids begged to drop and drag him to dreamland. Still, he forced his eyes to adjust to the view of the eerily white minuscule aircraft. He blinked a few times, unsure out of exhaustion or uncertainty of the item in front of him. He forced himself to sit and pick it up. The paper pricked his fingers and he retreated as the airplane was dropped onto the comforter, landing gracefully. It looked almost revoking.

He took a sharp intake of breath at the pain and he watched as an unfamiliar name carve itself into his skin. He tried not to gasp at the sight of blood, especially how red it was and how it was glistening despite the dim lighting. He resisted the urge to scream when the name was almost finished writing itself, as the pain increased and increased. He bit on his lip but made sure it didn't bleed. Wouldn't want to add on the extreme he was already experiencing. He might as well be giving birth to a child, albeit he has no right to say or even think that considering, well, he's a biological man.

Arisugawa Homare, it wrote. What a stupidly long name, was his intial thought. Who was this girl and why was he assigned to her? Actually, he shouldn't immediately assume it's a girl. Let him rephrase that: who was this person and why was he assigned to them? Couldn't they have thrown the stupid paper airplane some time later in life? He hoped, whoever they are, felt the pain of his name being carved into them for all of eternity. Though, he thought, maybe this was bound to happen either way, and he'd endure the same pain he suffered before. Still, he gritted his teeth at the lingering pain.

"...Arisugawa...Homare..." he mumbled through his gritted teeth. He didn't know what to feel, most likely because of the surprisingly overwhelming pain. Was he really angry? Or was he somewhat relieved that this happened sooner than he thought it'd happen? He only managed a deep sigh as to not upset himself with a pained gasp or even a cry. He looked at the fated spindle which pricked his fingers. There it sat, still as ever, appearing innocent and harmless when it was the one that shot a thousand bullets into him. Well, mostly his right hand and arm, but he swore he felt the anxiety pound in his heart.

After an hour or so, finally, the pain was completely gone. His breathing slowed to its usual speed (not that he noticed it sped up in the first place) and he noticed that his heart had calmed down. He lied down again and daren't touch that...thing once again. Just as he was about to get comfortable, his whole body tingled and he felt insanely hot. Is this actually the aftereffects of the discovery of your soulmate? Sweat dripped from his forehead and he started to breathe heavily again. This amount of pain — as much as he'd hate to admit it, he didn't like it one bit. And he was actually hurting. He immediately sprang up and in the blink of an eye, he was out the door.

He needed to see the doctor. He doubted that these signs were typical for someone who recently discovered who their soulmate is and so he must go, pathetically enough. He ran in the shadows, a skill he honed god-knows-when and hid himself from the public eye. Surprisingly enough, the town was hustling and bustling, even at midnight when even the skyscrapers should be asleep. Nonetheless, he raced through the crowd, breathing heavily to restrict himself from screaming. The pain was surging, pumping, bleeding in him now. It hurt. A lot. More than he ever thought it would. He could not stress this to his own mind and body enough. To his surprise, the running didn't made it any worse. At least something was in his favour.

He ran and ran, searching for a clinic, so he could at least tumble down and beg for help, though he's quite untalented at the latter, considering he has been living by himself all this while and hasn't died yet. The former, however, was how he has been living his life. Constantly tumbling down onto his bed to sleep, sleep, and sleep. On some days, he's just tumble onto the cold hard tiles of his bathroom from exhaustion. The fact that he managed to land a job at the local convenience store is shocking enough to both him and his peers. He had heard piercing insults being whispered among the staff – "He's so lazy." "He doesn't even like to smile." "If he wants to sleep all the time then this isn't the fucking place." – but he doesn't care. At least, he pretends to.

Finally, after a few minutes of unconfined sprinting (albeit it felt like hours), he found one and thanked whatever deity watching over him for its deserted surroundings and seemingly lonesome interior. He walked in and sat down quickly, as he was already swaying by the time his first planted his foot on the smooth tiles of the establishment. He didn't bother opening his eyes as his head was starting to spin. Great. The one thing he thought was to his advantage turned out to eat at him in the end. Should've stole a bike, at least. He heaved and heaved, he felt like his lungs were going to burst. He couldn't even stand up to ask for some assistance regarding his situation.

"Oh dear. Can somebody lend a hand, please? He's quite out of sorts," he heard a voice call out, but not to him. He attempted to open his eyes then to see whoever it was that took notice of his presence and, of course, his pain. But he found it difficult as he curled up even more in his seat, similar to that of a cat asleep. Except a cat being asleep is no way in any pain unlike what he was experiencing. He liked that about cats; they never have to experience this excruciating pain humans have to go through. Or, for some humans, the pain they'd feel knowing that they'll never go through it. He felt lightheaded then, as if he waddling through dreamlamd when wide awake. He never felt that before, seeming as he's quite the heavy drinker.

He felt himself being lifted off his cosy seat and onto a stretcher of some sorts — he knew for, again, it was another skill honed without memory of why and when. He flinched, flinched and flinched, thinking that this may be how he ends. But then he recalled; no one has ever died from being pricked by the fated airplane. Even so, he thought he could set a world record. First man to ever die by pricking his fingers on the paper airplane of his fated soulmate. It sounded flashy enough for people to believe and gossip about, and maybe there was a chance for him to be known for the right reasons in this world.

His world was spinning, spinning, spinning, even with his eyes tightly shut and still. He felt the world beneath him rattle and shake, like an earthquake the average child would be frightened of. Too bad he was the...not-so-average adult. He lurked in the shadows, slept 24/7 if work wasn't there to interrupt, received the paper airplane of destiny and slightly killing himself bit by bit in the process of attempting to cradle it in his hands. He still thought he deserves a world record. He tried blinking but it was to no avail. Not only did the blinding lights made him want to shut the world out but the pain. It's still there and it wants to kill, kill, kill. At least, he assumed so.

"Don't worry, we'll..." he had heard initially, but the rest of their words fell on his deaf ears. He saw colours spiral around in the darkness he was witnessing but there was no sound; he expected for the colours to crackle and explode, like fireworks do at summer festivals. Summer festivals. He hasn't been to one yet. Mostly because he doesn't see the point in going. It's like any other event and celebration. Pointless and fleeting. He wished oh-so-much that the pain was the latter. Fleeting. But it seemed as if his body disagreed. It wanted to hurt itself, for whatever reason, not help him find his soulmate like its original purpose was.

He passed out, million sharp eyes on him, yet none could penetrate his thoughts or his pain.

* * *

"Hey, can you hear me?"

He had heard, which should answer their question already but unfortunately, he has to answer since they wouldn't know that, considering they weren't...him. The lights were on full brightness as usual and they threatened to knock him back to sleep as they shone and stabbed his eyelids with their rays of filtered light. Still, he forced himself to at least attempt to open his eyes at the strangely calm voice of whoever's calling out to him, which would probably a doctor or nurse. He blinked, blinked, blinked; and then he was looking straight at a bar of light — the typical LED. But he didn't care about that. It was blinding, thus it was bad.

"You're awake. Good. You're lucky that someone was there to call for our help. Or who knows what might've happened," someone else's voice piped up pointingly at him and he could feel his usual irritation with most human beings awakening. Still, he nodded slowly, his restless body refusing to cooperate with him. He began to sit up but a sharp pain wounded him in his chest and it forced him back down, almost knocking him out again. The two whom he interacted with rush over to check up on him and make sure he doesn't accidentally kills himself. He started coughing and swore he could see a bit of blood spill over the bed(?).

"Oi, stay still! You're still in bad condition, we just managed to lessen the pain for you," the man, he saw now, scolded and sighed. He obeyed and it's as if he has turned to stone. He tried not to let his eyelids fall and drag him into dreamland once again, but he thought again; preventing himself from doing had lead him here in the first place. So maybe he should let them shut the whole world out and venture his own for a few hours. At least he can ignore the pain and, if he were to die, he'd spend his last moments in his beloved little universe.

He stayed still for what felt like hours, when really it was a few minutes. Still, he felt...reinvigorated somehow. Born anew. He felt the pain lessen and lessen and lessen, to the point where he had forgotten how pain feels. He hoped the process didn't lead to a much, much more painful punishment and it didn't. Just like that, the pain was gone. Huh, he wondered. He shouldn't have underestimated the authority clinic doctors have. He waited a few minutes to open his eyes (he realised he has been shutting them this whole time — must be out of habit) and when he does, nothing seemed to be going wrong for once. He saw the light but it wasn't as blinding as it was before. He was strong enough to sit up and not have pain pin him to the bed again and again.

"I assume you're okay now," the lady, he now saw, offered a smile. He didn't know how to do that but he attempted at the very least, as thanks for saving his life. Actually, was his soul on the verge of death in the first place? It must've been, considering how much it hurt. But then again, he doesn't really know how a near-death pain feels like. He slightly shivered at the thought of a pain more agonising than what he had experienced minutes ago. He could see that the lady was trying not to frown and bring his mood down than it already was. He heard footsteps and fully expected the man to walk in and scold him again but it turned out to be another person, who seemed much calmer than the man or the lady.

They didn't pay attention to him at first so he took the time to fully observe and read them. They had silky and long platinum hair, which almost matched their long-fingers hands which looked smoother than a mirror. They had glassy yellow eyes that were almost cat-like, though the glasses seem to be surpressing that fact to make them look less intimidating. He couldn't see what his name tag read but it started with "Yuki". Before he could stare at them more, the person strutted over to him and sat down on a chair as their eyes landed gently on their patient. He wondered if this doctor thought what everyone thought of him; erratic, lazy, depressed, and much, much more.

"Good morning. My name is Yukishiro Azuma, as you can see here. It seems like you're all fine and dandy now, aren't you?" they spoke (revealing to be a 'he') oh-so-softly and smiled, seeming much more feminine than the lady. But he wasn't one to judge. They all saved his life and that's all that matters. He nodded in response; he really liked how calming this man was and he didn't want to ruin it for the both of them. But sadly enough, Yukishiro Azuma wasn't Arisugawa Homare. He almost forgot about that name, although it was one of the things that brought so much pain in the first place.

"Fufufu, you're quite obedient, aren't you? Don't worry, you weren't the first to stumble into our doors like that. We have more than enough experience," Dr. Yukishiro elaborated and he felt somewhat sad he couldn't snatch the world record he kept daydreaming about. Nevertheless, he continued to nod as a response and hope it conveyed 'Thank you so much for saving my life, can I go home now?' as strongly as possible. Dr. Yukishiro chuckled and stood up to walk away, marking the end of their conversation. But before he disappeared, he dropped one last line.

"There's someone who wants to see you. And I think you might want to see them too," he said and then he was gone. He was left dumbfounded who would want to meet him at such an hour? Actually, what time was it anyway? The doctor said good morning so it must be morning. He got off from his bed and walked out of the room, escorted by the lady from before (Tachibana Izumi, the name tag read). His eyes immediately landed on the only other patron there, and they seemed to be asleep, with their head knocked backwards and leaning against the wall. He could feel the chill of the walls just by looking at them being sound asleep.

He walked slowly towards them, as he didn't want to seem too excited for they were his initial saviour. As he slowly inched closer, he took notice of their...unique haircut and colour. He also noticed the quite formal attire they donned, making them seem like a teacher or professor of sorts. He sat down beside them, unsure of whether he should wake them up as they were sleeping so peacefully. He always felt angry and annoyed whenever his neighbours would wake him up in the middle of a deep, deep sleep and thought they wouldn't want the same thing. He tried not to lean on their shoulder from the usual drowsiness that was coming back to him. But that dispersed quickly when he saw what was written on their arm.

Mikage Hisoka, it read. He could feel the anger surging through him now and the adrenaline he initially felt from running across yards and yards of road tar pulse back into rhythm. Luckily enough the pain wasn't there to haunt him for the millionth time for the last few hours. He placed his hands gently on their shoulders and he slowly inched his way up. Up, up, and up until...

"What the hell are you doing? Get your hands off him!"

The man from before. Mikage sighed and he let his hands fall limply to his sides. A shame, really. He might not remember how and why he knows how to do it but what he does remember is how to do it swiftly, without a trace left behind, but it seemed as if that skill was slowly fading away from memory. Or perhaps, it was something else, considering the person he tried to choke was his soulmate, not just any other person. His soulmate. The person he'll be forever bonded to. He cringed at the thought of it and slightly shivered, remembering the pain he felt because of this stupid soulmate thing in the first place.

"Whether you like it or not, he's your soulmate. You can't do jack shit about that," the man barked – Furuichi Sakyo, the name tag screamed – and approached him. Furuichi (Doctor? Nurse? Something in between?) gripped Mikage's shirt, a big portion of it in his balled fist, and stared daggers into his eyes. Too bad for him though, his eyes were already too blinded by the LEDs to be blinded by a few metaphorical daggers. He didn't feel threatened, no, not at all. Somehow, he was used to this. He only blinked a few times and Furuichi let go furiously before strutting back into the abyss that was the clinic. To his dismay, the man beside him had woken up, stretching his arms and yawning very loudly.

The man – actually, Arisugawa Homare – looked to him and smiled radiantly, as if he took the sun and shoved it into every fibre of his lips and possibly being. Mikage was unsure if he liked it or not. That smile and the eccentric aura and vibe he was giving off. He saved his life but at the same time, he was the one who put him through so much pain in the first place. He was conflicted. He only replied to his smile with a confused yet longing gaze, questioning his every intention. Why did he threw that paper airplane? Why did he help him? Why was he so radiant and eccentric? Mikage wondered this questions as if they will never be answered.

"Hello, my darling soulmate. It seems you are well once more," Arisugawa finally spoke for the first time when his darling soulmate wasn't preoccupied with heaving and on the verge of death. It was a bit jarring, to say the least. This teacher-slash-professor-looking man, who was gentle and careful with his words (not as much as Dr. Yukishiro but still), one who inflicted so much pain even if indirectly, with a haircut worse-looking than a mop, was his soulmate. He wanted to kneel and ask the fates — why was he destined to be with this man? Because for one, he was one would describe as "heartless" and "unloving", though he begged to differ.

"Is something the matter?" the mophead asked and widen his eyes in confusion. Mikage noticed his shrinking and slit-like red pupils, like bloody icicles on a particularly icy and dangerous day. They attracted him like a magnet, slowly pulling in and then all at once, he found himself lost in his eyes. The red surrounded him like dark clouds on a thunderous night and the questions he had were being dragged out of him. He screamed but there was no echo to screech in response. And with that, his soulmate understood. "I see. You wish to know why I threw the fated airplane," the other man snapped him back to reality and he nodded furiously, more furious than he ever had done in his life. Arisugawa chuckled and shifted in his seat.

"You see, dear Hisoka, I was naive. I insisted of entering a relationship with a woman before discovering who my fated soulmate is and that, as it should, lead only to ruin and heartbreak. As I was reminiscing on the fragments of memories we had shared, I was surprised to find my hands folding a paper airplane. And without further thinking, I threw it out my window and it flew into the world, oblivious yet all-knowing. It flew right to you and, I'd assume at the very least, your name was carved into my arm the very moment mine was carved into yours," he narrated as he caressed the name on his arm oh-so-lovingly.

As always, he was speechless. He didn't know what to say. He's constantly at a lost for words but this time it felt wrong somehow. Almost guilty for being silent. They only knew each other for, what, a few hours excluding the ones when he was knocked out? And yet he was speaking as if they knew each other for a decade. Mikage wanted to state that they barely knew each other but somehow, he found himself not wanting to break the other man's heart a second time. He was...sympathetic. And somewhat compassionate. He didn't necessarily liked it but it wasn't something he hated either. Maybe this soulmate thing was doing something good for him after all.

"I acknowledge your worries. We do not know each other well, unlike most fated soulmates; but I accept you with open arms. We shall take the time to befriend each other and fall in love. I am willing to bare my soul but in exchange, so will you. What say you?" Arisugawa offered and looked into the other's eyes, impatiently searching for an answer. As much as he hated to admit it, Mikage could easily get lost in his eyes and swim in an endless sea of red, but he knew he had to think of an answer. His eyes might be enchanting but his heart was still conversing with his mind.

_'What do you think, Heart?'_

_'I have felt nothing for decades and you're asking me to feel for someone I barely know?'_

_'But maybe it'll be worth our while. It's time for some change.'_

The whole lobby was silent, save for their breathing and pounding of hearts. Mikage's heart refused to halt but his mind was out of the woods. People always told that you should always go with the preaching of your guts and follow the singing of your heart. But he was soulless and blank. But maybe it's time to write something on that blank slate and fill it with some soul. His heart sang yet again.

_'...I suppose.'_

And with that, his arms were thrown around the taller man, he felt less than empty but he couldn't say that he was feeling something, unfortunately enough. But as soon as his soulmate rubbed his back reassuringly, he could feel...warmth. If warmth was what he was feeling. He held onto him tighter, as if his life depended on it. Maybe all that pain and adrenaline was worth meeting him. Worth feeling these other feelings. Worth a change of pace.

"Deal," he promised, as another paper airplane dashed out the clinic door, searching for its unsuspecting victim. And Mikage hoped, with all the compassion his steel heart could muster, that the recipient and sender know that the pricks and pain and adrenaline will be worth their while, as cheesy as that sounded in his head. He might've had no right to think that, since he had never open up his heart for anything but, like his soulmate, he was willing to try. If he'd try, then so will anyone else.

Screams could be heard in another room.


End file.
